


Hands that Don't Dare Touch

by anarchycox



Series: Witcher Bingo Card Prompts [12]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Banter, Fade to black sex, Feels, M/M, happy ever after, he just really likes beds okay, sequel to a fic, soft, sorting out a relationship, touch starved, vanilla geralt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:33:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25487041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anarchycox/pseuds/anarchycox
Summary: Jaskier fled after he and Geralt fooled around a bit, his emotions too overwhelmed. He wasn't surprised when Geralt followed after.What surprised him, was that Jaskier actually got everything he had ever dreamed of.Direct Sequel to Golden Lips Pressed Against Skin
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Witcher Bingo Card Prompts [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1746034
Comments: 74
Kudos: 437





	Hands that Don't Dare Touch

**Author's Note:**

> Here we go, the sequel to that cliffhanger in the make up Geralt fic.
> 
> for "touch starved" on my bingo card
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/25263100 (link to the first story)

Jaskier sat in the woods, furious and confused. He couldn’t even explain to himself why he had run. He just knew that the second Geralt had fallen asleep exhausted from a hunt and the orgasm, that he had grabbed his things and taken off. Thank Melitele it was summer because he couldn’t build a fire in the dark, he could barely see. He settled into the crux of a giant tree and willed his fingers to stop shaking. Tried to sort out what he was feeling.

He had had Geralt under his hands, had bitten his neck like he had dreamed of doing so many times. Jaskier had wanted Geralt for years, but everyone wanted Geralt, the man just never noticed, because he saw the hate that witchers received and never noticed the want underneath. But he had never pushed, because if he had and Geralt said no it would be an unbearable rejection. Or he had said yes, and then nothing changed between them.

Or he said yes, and everything changed.

That was the most terrifying option. 

But he had managed the low level arousal that he always experienced around Geralt, it was a hum in the back of his mind, a thrill that fueled his body, kept him going on the long journeys. Jaskier had no intention of doing much about it. Until the bastard had put on that make up. Sigil paint, whatever Geralt wanted to call it. It had snapped something in Jaskier’s brain, seeing him all painted up like that, looking like a fucking god of old. Looking so completely not of this world versus the mostly not a part of the world.

Watching Geralt’s hands put the paint on, the slow and steady motions, watching the colour glide onto his face. It had been just too fucking much. He had been waiting, years, he had realized when Geralt had left, for the one thing that would tip him over. Make him act on what had been built stone by stone, not a wall between them but enclosing them.

He had sat on that bed, trying to push the feeling, the need away, and then Geralt had returned, the make up a wreck, eyes smudged, lips smeared. Streaked with sweat and water, who knew what, looking filthy and ruined.

And all Jaskier could think, was he was the one who was supposed to ruin Geralt.

After that he hadn’t been particularly thinking much. He had expected once he had started, that Geralt would take over, but he hadn’t, he had just let Jaskier be in charge, do what he wanted. And to be fair, Jaskier didn’t do everything he wanted; there were a million things that he had thought about Geralt over the years and biting and a hand job barely scratched the surface. But then it was done and Geralt was exhausted and Jaskier realized that he had taken advantage.

Geralt said the creature had been related to a succubus, and perhaps it had somehow influenced Geralt’s mind? What if he had hurt Geralt, taken advantage? What if he hadn’t but Geralt afterward said thank you, just what I needed, back to us just being pals now. There were a million what ifs that would follow what had happened and they all meant Jaskier would be hurt.

He had spent years wanting to be touched by Geralt, in a way that wasn’t just saving his life, hungry for the touch so much that some nights he thought he’d die without it. 

Jaskier had run because staying so close to almost having what he wanted, would kill him.

He fell into a fitful sleep and woke to the smell of cooking rabbit. “Geralt, you know I hate rabbit for breakfast,” he murmured.

“Well, you likely didn’t eat last night, so you need the calories. There are also Dandelions,” Geralt replied. 

Jaskier bolted upright and looked at him, and the man hadn’t washed his face; he looked a mess and it made Jaskier ache for him even more. “When did you find me?”

“A few hours ago, but you needed the sleep.” Geralt took the rabbit off the small fire and tore it apart the heat not bothering his fingers. He mixed it with Dandelions and other greens he had gathered and Jaskier took it when it was offered. If he was busy eating, they wouldn’t talk. And it was Geralt, even money they wouldn’t talk it about anyways. “Do you flee because I was that bad? I know I didn’t do much, you just overwhelmed me. Next time, I’ll do more.”

“No,” Jaskier looked at his messy fingers, he sort of wanted to rub the grease and yellow dandelion stains across Geralt’s cheek, add to the mess on his face. He wiped them on the ground instead. “No it wasn’t that.”

“So you did flee?” Jaskier nodded. “Why?”

“I don’t know.” Jaskier looked at Geralt and the man was staring at him in a completely new way, which meant he couldn’t translate what hidden words the gaze held. “Geralt?”

“Hmm?”

“Your face is a mess.”

“You liked the mess last night,” Geralt pointed out. But then he paused, “Didn’t you?” He seemed unsure and Jaskier didn’t like that look on him.

“I did. You look good in make up, and you look good as a mess.” Jaskier watched him. “What now?”

“Now I wash my face because the sigil paint is getting itchy, and then we hit the road like usual,” Geralt replied. “Unless you don’t want -”

“No, I want,” Jaskier almost shouted. “Unless you don’t want -”

When Geralt huffed and rolled his eyes, Jaskier felt something in him ease. Because at least now he knew. They’d continue on like before, a weird monster fueled dream; that’s all it had been. His fingers would eventually forget the feel of Geralt’s skin under them. It would eventually not haunt his waking moments how close he had been to everything he had always wished for, but knew would never be his. Jaskier took a few deep breaths, and determinedly packed away his yearning, his need to touch just once more. He nodded, stood, and stretched. 

Geralt rinsed off his face with water from their skin and they headed out. It was standard travel and almost like normal, but he had to stop himself a few times from reaching for Geralt. One touch wouldn’t be enough. They reached a horrid little village - and village was generous, and they had no use for a bard, and reluctant use for a witcher. They weren’t that surprised when they were only paid half and cursed at as they left.

But half was better than nothing. A week later they arrived at a proper town and the tavern happily booked in Jaskier for three nights of singing, and there were a couple jobs on the board. They’d leave with fat purses. They booked one room at the inn, it was all they had and were so used to it. Neither man ever commented that they slept better next to each other. 

“Don’t fuck around tonight, need your wits tomorrow for one of the jobs.” That was a rare but not unheard of statement, and since he seldom asked Jaskier to abstain, Jaskier readily agreed to it. Geralt nodded, “I’m off to track a bit, I’ll meet you at the tavern later.” 

“Of course,” Jaskier grinned and it was just a bit strained. Because he just wanted one more touch. Geralt left with a last grunt and Jaskier sat on the bed. He had to get it together; he damn well knew that Geralt could smell the confusion and goddamn yearning that Jaskier was exuding; at least the man was an emotion idiot and was likely thinking it was about a random conquest or pie or such. Jaskier washed using the pitcher of water in the room, changed his lute strings and headed out. He walked through the town a bit, just humming and singing a little to attract attention as he headed to the tavern. He wanted to eat first, had just enough for a bit of stew and bread. The crowd was light but a few people came in.

When he started it was slow, and he kept it light but the tavern keeper was a smart man and propped open a window and the door so the music poured out. More came in to listen and the coins started to be tossed. Not a lot but it suggested a healthy night overall. Jaskier took a brief break for ale, before he got back to singing. It was full dark and he only had a few songs left in him, but the crowd had grown raucous and fun. He was singing a saucy song about a farmer’s lass, when Geralt walked in. He kept playing even as Geralt drew all the eyes. The man would be annoyed that all the brooding corners of the tavern were occupied. He figured Geralt would settle in, lean against the bar, but the man just grabbed an ale and then came and sat at the spare table near Jaskier.

Jaskier had no idea what to do with the fact that Geralt was willingly sitting with his back exposed. Jaskier had once played with a broken hand. He had played when getting the best blow job of his life. He never ever missed a note when performing for the public. He was the best goddamn bard on the continent, and his work proved that every single day.

Then Geralt pulled his cloak hood down, and he had the black lined eyes again and a stripe of gold that slashed through the middle of his bottom lip and down his chin, which was shaved so smooth. His hair was trimmed too. And Jaskier’s fingers fumbled on the strings.

Geralt made him fuck up. The man was going to pay.

Jaskier stopped singing for the crowd, his eyes never left Geralt’s as he played. He couldn’t have looked elsewhere even if he wanted to, the make up had him completely hypnotized. He sang about love and wanting and he and Geralt just stared at each other. The last notes hung in the air and a great deal of money was tossed his way. Jaskier packed up the lute and gathered the money. When he looked up Geralt was already gone. He hurried outside and was relieved when Geralt was just leaning against the railing in front of the tavern. “What the fuck, Geralt?”

“Hmm?”

“Do not hmm me, why are you wearing the make up?” Jaskier poked him in the chest. All he wanted was to grab the armor, lean in, lick that gold stripe. “Why would you do that?”

“Because we have a bed,” Geralt smiled. “Because you look at me like that when I have the sigil paint on.”

“Like what?”

“Like you are dying of hunger, and I am a feast put in front of you.”

“I’ve looked at you like that since the day we met!” Jaskier shouted.

“No, you didn’t!” Geralt shouted back. People were clearly listening and they started walking towards the inn. “You looked at me like many did. A novelty, a story. I wasn’t real to you the first few years.”

“Oh please you became real to me when we both shit in the same hole in the ground. The lifestyle is all reality, Geralt,” Jaskier snapped. “I have always wanted me.”

“Not the way you did when you saw the sigil paint, it was different. It shifted everything. Why?” 

Jaskier didn’t shout back, he thought about his answer, because Geralt had been serious, soft. Jaskier’s answer here mattered in a way that he didn’t fully understand, he just knew he had to say the right thing. “You have such an odd relationship with your body Geralt. You love your baths and being clean but can also get horrific when we are camping. Your scars, your hair, you one one hand wish they were better different, but on the other do little about it. We will not talk about your fashion sense. But watching you put on that make up. Watching you take that care with the lines, the slow draw, the gentleness with yourself as you did it. It just broke my brain. Also it made you look insanely gorgeous. Fuck, Geralt, you look so gorgeous right now, I want to lick you.”

“Bed.”

“What is your obsession with beds?”

“They are very comfortable,” Geralt scowled at him. “Do not start. I hear enough of that from Yen.”

Jaskier had to pause. “Geralt, have you been wanting us to fuck, but we haven’t because there was no bed?” There was no way that was accurate. 

“Beds are comfortable, you don’t have to worry about dirt or rocks in your knees or ass! Beds have pillows and blankets and are comfortable so you can focus on your partner. I don’t get why every person I love is all about let’s get freaky in weird place. The woods, a unicorn, against a building. Yes, I know I am strong but thrusting is damn hard to do while holding someone up against something. Beds are great. Chaises are fine too. I guess a chair could work as well. There, we can add fucking in a chair.”

“Love?” Jaskier stopped walking. “What?”

“What? Do you have another option for the list?” Geralt paused to and was clearly thinking. “Hmm, I’ve read in those pamphlets you buy, you know the story ones, about people fucking in front of the fire. You need to be an adequate distance away so no embers or getting too warm, but enough pillows and blankets, it could work. We could experiment with it.” 

“We are talking about that list later,” Jaskier could see the inn. “Just shut up until we are in the room.”

“With the bed,” Geralt smiled at him, and fuck the promise that was in his eyes was thoroughly distracting. 

Jaskier wasn’t running but he definitely hurried until they were in their room, lute and weapons all put down, and Geralt was sitting on the bed and holding out his hand. Jaskier shook his head. “I can’t.”

“Can’t what?”

“Touch you.”

“That will make sex more difficult. How do you fuck without touching someone? Seems not very fun.”

“Because if I touch you, Geralt, I’ll never be able to stop.”

“You touch me all the time. You poke a finger at me every fucking day.”

Jaskier closed his eyes. “It is not the same, you oaf. If I touch you, like this, I cannot go back to pretending that I don’t love you, that I want to hold your hand, and brush your hair from your eyes. Kiss you jaw when we are out and about and you are being all grumpy and perfect.” He opened his eyes and Geralt was still holding his hand out. “You can’t let me have you and take you away.” The hand was steady in the air. Waiting for him. “Geralt, you’ll break my heart.”

“Probably. But you’ll probably break mine too,” Geralt pointed out and he wasn’t wrong. “We still always circle back to each other. You are my true north, Jaskier. You always guide me.”

“Fuck, you cannot do that,” Jaskier groaned. He took the hand and settled on Geralt’s lap. “You look so fucking good in makeup, wolf. How am I supposed to cope with that?”

“Guess you should fuck me, that would be a way to cope with it.”

“You said you loved me.”

“So did you.”

“When?” Jaskier would remember saying those words.

“Sang to me, didn’t you?” Geralt kissed him and Jaskier melted. “Missed a note, when you saw me. Never miss a note.”

“I’ll have revenge for that.”

“You going to break every time I put this shit on my face?”

“Yes.”

“Guess I am wearing it a lot then.” Geralt fell back on the bed, and Jaskier looked down at him. “So?”

“So?”

“Go on, touch. For as long as you want.”

“Forever?”

“Why the fuck not?” 

Jaskier leaned down and kissed him, licked that gold stripe away. He pressed his fingers against Geralt like how he had dreamed, and feasted like he never had on anyone before. An hour later he was wrapped around Geralt. “Are we really not doing this in the woods?”

“Twigs, Jaskier, bugs. I’m not getting a bug bite on my ass while fucking into you.”

“You are an idiot,” Jaskier kissed his head. 

“It is a valid concern,” Geralt muttered. “Bed good.” 

Jaskier would have countered about the benefits of regular fucking, but Geralt had fallen asleep. Seemed sex tuckered the witcher out more than any monster fight. Jaskier held him close, there would be time to argue for the benefits of woods sex. Jaskier let his fingers drift over Geralt now that he had the freedom to touch like he wanted. Nothing stopped him. Until Geralt grumbled in his sleep and rolled so that he was squishing Jaskier, and made it so Jaskier couldn’t really move his hands. Breathing would get difficult but Jaskier didn’t push him off because the weight felt too perfect against him. Breathing deeply was overrated anyways.


End file.
